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94                             LETTERS    FROM   THE

Parvus ubi sacro cippus tegit ossa sub antro.
Ssepe tamen caros fontes circumvolat umbra,
Et nnnc forte levis (neu sit pavor) sethere luditf
Dumque calore liques, vari£ te ventiiat aM,
Sic grates persolvit—Abi jam, vive valeque.1


London, January 1792.

I left Sir Thomas in good health and spirits
and fatter than ever. We talked a good deal
about the plantations, and had fine weather.

i The following is a free translation of the above, which,
we fear, would not have gained for its author a corner in the
Musts Eton&nses;

Stranger, that to these groves and to this fount
May haply wander, let their former lord
Claim thy heart's silent orison; for he
By this translucent stream, 'mid Nature's charms,
Sweetly bewildered, or with willing step,
Led by the gentle Muse, was wont to stray.
Oft have I seen him, whilst Ms sparkling eye
Dwelt with fond pride on Ms paternal home,
Curb the wild wave, or through the thorny brake
Direct the devious path, or o'er the hill
Spread the oak's leafy honours, and in thought
Enrich his grandsons.   Now his wearied head
Softly reposes where this sheltering vale
Marks in its sacred cave, on sculptured stone,
The short memento of mortality.
Yet hovering oft, o'er scenes thro* life beloved,
His spirit dwells, and gratefully around
Thy sunburnt temples pours its cooling balm,
And through the pensive foliage sighs—Adieu I